


here in my arms (is exactly where I want you)

by LoWritesThings



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Antagonist Rhea, Background Relationships, Byleth is oblivious to all forms of flirting, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff with hints of angst, Minor Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault, Minor Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Minor Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25898773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoWritesThings/pseuds/LoWritesThings
Summary: Claude never doubted he'd find his soulmate one day. He's ready to meet destiny's partner for him. Only Byleth Eisner doesn't believe in destiny and she isn't interested in soulmates--not even her own.Lucky for him, Claude is nothing if not persistent.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	here in my arms (is exactly where I want you)

**Author's Note:**

> This should be around 10 chapters. I say around because I'm notoriously terrible at guessing in advance and my outline is a little vague, so it could be slightly shorter or slightly longer.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure how big a part the minor ships will play. I've got a few ideas about them that I'm still playing with.
> 
> Also, as tagged, Rhea is an antagonist in this story. She makes the same sort of questionable decisions as she does in canon.
> 
> Song title is from "We Own the Night" by Dance Gavin Dance. And here is a [recipe for qottab](https://www.unicornsinthekitchen.com/walnut-filled-persian-pastry-qottab/) if you're interested!

The day he met his soulmate started badly.

 _Why did I decide it would be a good idea to go to some Fódlani boarding school?_ Claude thought as he heaved himself to his feet. He tried not to remember his dream. It had been so realistic that he’d practically been able to taste the rosewater qottab and the thick, sweet coffee. Delicacies like that were a thing of the past, better off forgotten for now. The only thing waiting for him in the mess hall were mediocre boiled eggs and oatmeal. Oh, and dish duty. It really wasn’t his day.

Breakfast was uneventful at least. Cleanup, however, was a nightmare. He spent so long tidying up his messes and charming his way back into the cooks’ good graces that he was late to homeroom. That landed him a Sunday morning seminar, effectively ruining any weekend plans. By the time classes were done, he had a mountain of reading to work through and his mood was thoroughly shot. Hilda invited him out shopping with their normal friends group, but Claude was bored of the little town and didn’t feel up to being charming and social. That left only one place he could think of to go, a place he could work _and_ be antisocial without being stuck in his room. The library.

Years ago, Garreg Mach had been a religious institution and an Officer’s Academy. Now it was just a regular boarding school, but the library looked as though it came straight out of the Age of Unification. It even still had huge fireplaces for warmth which were occasionally utilized in the winter months. Ornately carved wooden shelves and a grand staircase, plenty of wood darkened by age and huge crystal chandeliers all gave the impression that he’d traveled back hundreds of years into the past. He both loved it and wished it offered more sunshine. For a place meant to be dedicated to books and research, the lighting could be a little dim.

He lost himself in the stacks. He had every intention of doing his coursework and eventually he would find himself to a reading table and get started, but he couldn’t resist a bit of a poke around in search of interesting titles. Hilda had always been surprised by how fond of research he was, but he liked having information. You never knew what you might need to know off hand, and he hated to be caught off-guard or ill prepared. Besides, he was a whiz at trivia night.

He found a book about the original archbishop of Seiros, a woman whose name had been lost to history. The illustration, contemporary to her time and in a peculiar, tapestry-like style, depicted a woman that looked strikingly like the school’s headmistress. The Church of Seiros itself still existed, but it had been a couple hundred years since it had commanded any real power or influence in Fódlan. And the monastery here at the school was more of a museum or tourist attraction than an active church, much less the religious center of the country it had once been.

Claude was lost deep in the world of pre-Unification Fódlan, tracing the original archbishop’s bloodline through the ages. It was getting interesting: he hadn’t realized that Almyra had played such a significant role in the War of Unification and he was reading about the exploits of Nader the Undefeated when someone cleared their throat nearby. He looked up and spotted a young woman with striking looks; she had dark hair and eyes set against pale skin as well as a profoundly calm expression on a lovely face. She didn’t look impatient or annoyed. She didn’t look like she felt much of _anything_ , but she was clearly waiting for him to shift out of the center of the aisle so she could move around him.

“Ah. Sorry about that. I bet you want me to get out of your way,” he said with a winning smile. The woman watched him for a beat, still expecting him to step to the side now that he’d seen her. Then in a voice as placid as her expression, she said, “Yes, please.”

It was just a second or two too late, making the interaction awkward enough to pique Claude’s curiosity. Was she from somewhere else, like he was? Dagda, maybe? The language barrier could explain the long pause. Translating and retranslating every question and answer was, he knew, a bit of a bitch. Or perhaps, he thought as he caught the first glimpse of impatience in her eyes--he still hadn’t shifted so much as an inch out of her way--she was just a bit of a cold fish.

“Too right, I’ve detained you too long,” he said as if in response to a question. One of her eyebrows lifted as he stepped back and dipped into a ridiculous bow. Then, ignoring the courtly gesture and the words both, she slid past him. In fact, she seemed to be halfway to forgetting about him entirely when she suddenly remembered to say, “Thank you,” over her shoulder.

And he knew better, he really did. He had a pile of reading to do and his day had been rough enough to play havoc with his mood, but there was something about her total indifference that made him want to poke at her like she was a lab experiment. So he sauntered after her as she continued down the aisle to the section about holy relics. He’d have pegged her as more of a STEM type, but there was a certain clinical detachment to history that might appeal to her. Only he’d never met a historian that wouldn’t spend an hour describing the importance of a decades-old discovery of broken pottery that wasn’t even from their period of expertise. She didn’t strike him as the type to harbor that sort of passion, but he’d been wrong about people before. He’d been right about them too, but that was a different story.

She glanced behind her as she came to a stop and spotted him still in her proximity. He flashed her an innocent grin, but he didn’t pretend to be doing anything other than following her. Her eyes tightened but still, she didn’t make a single comment. She simply resumed her search of the bookshelves and Claude browsed through the titles too, although for the moment there was nothing he cared about less than a bunch of dusty books about dusty artifacts. This woman was much more fascinating, or at least more present. He let the silence stretch out for a while before he spoke, going for casual curiosity. “History buff?” he asked.

She didn’t even look at him. “Random creep that thinks he’s hot enough to get away with stalking women through the library?”

He winced and barked out a laugh, startled but pleased with her cutting wit. It was an unexpected challenge from someone so determinedly unruffled. He held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Nothing like that. I’m just bored and procrastinating on my homework.”

“Lucky me,” she replied, and if a tone of voice could roll its eyes, hers did. Why was this so amusing to him? He wasn’t sure, but he felt the strangest urge to keep kicking the hornet’s nest. His grin sharpened as he slid into her periphery, and those dark eyes cut toward him and narrowed. She seemed to be doing some sort of silent calculation, and he could have sworn that she could lay him out flat if she wanted to and was still trying to decide if the trouble was worth it. It was probably lucky for him that she seemed to be doubling down on her strategy of ignoring him. Maybe he should have been dissuaded by that point, but his curiosity was mounting instead.

“So, you’re not a history buff. Homework, maybe? Or are you thinking of joining the cult of Seiros?”

“Church of Seiros,” she corrected him, and he quirked an eyebrow and said, “Hm...debatable.”

She huffed a sigh--not offended, he noticed, just deeply exasperated--and turned to face him fully. “Look, I’m sure you’re really witty and great and everything, but I’m busy. You probably are too. So let’s both get back to work, shall we?”

Dust swirled around them as they stared at each other. After a pause in which the natural silence of the library descended once more, he nodded and plastered an easy smile on his face. “Sure. Sorry for bothering you. Have a good one.”

“Thanks. You too.” She was already turning back to the bookshelf. Claude decided not to push his luck any further, at least not right this moment. He retreated a few steps back toward the section he’d been browsing when he’d come in. Still, he kept an eye on her. Why was she so compelling? She probably already thought he was a slime ball, but there was some instinct telling him that she _mattered_. Like he needed to pay attention.

So when she climbed onto a stepladder to get to the higher shelves, he noticed. And he noticed she was wearing very sensible heels. And he was already moving back in her direction when she shifted backwards and then lost balance as her heel slipped off of the rung. That was it: she was pitching backward off of the ladder and there was nothing for her to grab onto. Claude darted forward the last three feet or so and reached out to break her fall. His fingers clasped her forearm just beneath the dip of her inner elbow as her body collided with his. Her own hand latched onto his wrist and there was a bright burst of pain that made absolutely no sense, but before he could process that thought she was pulling out of his grasp.

“Are you okay?” he asked, confused by his own pain but more concerned for her.

“Yeah,” she replied, but her eyes were locked onto her arm where he’d grabbed her to keep her from falling. There was something puzzled and wary in her eyes that he could sympathize with and he glanced down at his own inner wrist. The pain was already fading into nothing, but there was something else...the skin was going pink in places, like something had been burned into it, but he couldn’t quite make it out.

His mystery woman gasped. Since it was the wildest show of emotion he’d seen from her yet, he tore his gaze away from his arm and tried to discern what had alarmed her so much. She looked up, saw him studying her, and scrambled to gather her things.

“Wait,” he said, realizing she was about to flee. “Wait--do you know what just happened to us?”

But she only shook her head and ran, literally _ran_ , away from him. Claude stood there, utterly baffled, for several long moments. Then he looked down at his wrist again. The pink lines in his skin were darkening, resolving themselves into something clearer. When at last he was able to make out their pattern, he understood.

A falling star had been imprinted into his skin as clearly as if he’d had it tattooed there, and his soulmate had just fled the library as though he’d somehow attacked her.

“Oh,” he said out loud to no one. And then, “Well, _shit_.”

It really wasn’t his day.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://lowritesthings.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lsowrites). Come yell at me about FF7 (I'm replaying the original on switch and boy do I love the remake) and Claude and ASOIAF and Good Omens and anything David Tennant related or whatever else you want haha!


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